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Gods couldn't get tattoos because their bodies healed the punctures faster than the artists could make them, and Dagor was thankful for that. Who wanted to be stuck with crappy artwork for eternity?
Or even great artwork, for that matter?
“Not my type.” He closed his lips around the paper straw and drew up more of the delicious Frappuccino that had become his favorite drink since he'd discovered it.
“You are too picky.” Negal leaned closer to him. “You won't find goddesses here, and you need to compromise. For humans, those two are not bad.”
“I'm not picky.” Dagor put the Frappuccino down. After spending five years on Earth with him, Negal should have known what type of females interested him. “The attorneys the other day were very pleasant company.”
Neither had been beautiful or even pretty, but the conversation was stimulating, and they had been immaculately dressed.
Negal grinned. “Yeah, those two were superb in more ways than one, or at least the one I picked. It's a shame we can't see them again.”
After spending the night with them in the hotel, the ladies had been more than eager to provide their phone numbers, but Dagor and Negal had a rule about being with human companions more than once.
Before meeting Gabi, Aru had obeyed the same rule, but he'd broken it for her without giving it a second thought. At the time, Dagor couldn't understand their commander's odd behavior and his fascination with the human, but as it had turned out, Gabi had not been fully human. She had godly genes in her, which explained the attraction.
Still, Gabi was not a goddess, only an immortal—a hybrid who was considered an abomination in their home world.
Not that Dagor believed in that nonsense. Gabriella was a lovely female, but even more importantly, she was Aru's fated mate. Nevertheless, the union was problematic in the sense that Aru could never take her back to Anumati with him and could never introduce her to his family and friends back home. The resistance would have welcomed her, but there was no way to smuggle her onto the patrol ship, or any other ship for that matter. All the stasis pods were accounted for, and their occupants' biometrics were monitored from Anumati.
If only the resistance could build its own ships somewhere away from Anumati's watchful eyes, but that was impossible. Humans thought their privacy was being eroded, but they had no idea how much worse it could get.
The one good thing about being on Earth was the freedom to do and say whatever he wanted without worrying about the censorship that possibly extended even to thoughts. There was no proof, but there were rumors about the king employing telepaths. Most of them couldn't read actual thoughts, but they could sense intentions, which was dangerous for the resistance.
Rebels had learned how to shield their thoughts and emotions.
The problem was that it didn't mean much when there was so little that he could do with this planet's primitive technology.
Leaning back in his chair, Dagor groaned. “I need something to do that involves using my head for more than people-watching. I'm bored out of my mind, and I'm not even a century old yet.”
A guy sitting at the table next to theirs turned to him and nodded. “I get it, bro. Sometimes I feel ancient, too.”
Forcing a smile, Dagor lifted the plastic cup and saluted the guy.
He'd found out that humans responded well to noncommittal gestures that could mean many different things.
Negal glared at him. “You need to keep your voice down.”
“I know. My bad.”
That was another human expression Dagor had adopted that worked very well for a variety of situations.
Leaning even closer to him, Negal whispered in his ear, “You are too young to suffer from the affliction of boredom. Perhaps you should contact the ship's counselor.”
Dagor wasn't losing his mind, and he had no intention of talking to the counselor, but to get Negal off his back, he had to acquiesce.
“Perhaps I will go to see her after this mission is over. You know that empaths need skin-to-skin contact to be able to provide real help. She can't do much for me through the communicator.”
“By the time we get picked up, it might be too late,” Negal said in their native tongue. “A hundred and fifteen years is not long in the life of a god, but if you are already showing signs of mental fatigue, you should not delay seeking help. Even talking with the counselor might be beneficial. She might give you advice on how to combat these early signs of decline.”
Dagor didn't wish to offend Negal, but he'd had enough of the insinuations that he was going insane. It was a major concern for Anumatians, but he was too young to be showing even early symptoms.
“My mental faculties are intact. It's just that we are stuck here doing nothing while Aru takes care of his mate. I am tired of sitting in this blasted coffee shop and watching humans come and go.” He lifted the venti Frappuccino cup. “That's the only saving grace of this place.”
Arching a brow, Negal leaned back. “I quite enjoy the respite we have been given. Sitting here and hunting for suitable bed companions is far more enjoyable than trekking through Tibet and sleeping on the cold ground. I am not looking forward to the day Aru decides that Gabriella is strong enough to travel, and we will be back on the road, searching for the missing Kra-ell pods.”
Sometimes, Dagor wondered whether Negal's linear way of thinking was an inborn tendency or a product of his many years in the service.
